


I Think I Got Too Many Memories Getting In The Way Of Me

by haunted_by_catholic_guilt



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Crying, Fever, Friendship, Headaches & Migraines, Making Up, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic, Tim Lives AU, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haunted_by_catholic_guilt/pseuds/haunted_by_catholic_guilt
Summary: For the prompt from my lovely friend"obviously tim was an ass to jon but like what if it some point tim got sick or hurt and jon being a petty little bitch ignored tim asking for help/thought he was over exaggerating or something and doesn’t help until he actually realizes how bad it is cause like there are plenty of fics like that with the roles reversed"
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	I Think I Got Too Many Memories Getting In The Way Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Tim lives because screw canon!!!! 
> 
> TW FOR VOMITING, NOSEBLEED, NIGHTMARES, AND ALCHOHOL MENTION

They survived The Unknowing.

It had gone better than expected, and they were all able to get out with minor injuries physically at most.

The emotional scars were another story.

So here Tim was, a month after it all happened and he was not doing good.

His head was pounding and he swore he could still hear Nikola’s voice.

Jon still stayed locked in the office most days, Martin was the only person he would respond to at all, whenever Tim tried to talk to him, to apologize, Jon would shut down completely and would, rightfully, be a bit of an ass.

Tim raised a shaking hand to his face, feeling like his head was going to explode then, and was not surprised to see blood on the hand from under his nose.

He also was pretty sure he had a fever, judging by the dampness in his hair and the shivers running down his spine.

Martin out of the office today, his mum was ill and needed help, but god Tim wished he was.

Jon was in his office, and he has no idea what time it was, all he knew is he was on the floor, probably covered in his own blood, and his stomach turned at the smell of it.

The lights were making everything ten times worse, but he couldn’t bear to close his eyes, every time he did he saw Danny’s face, on something that wasn’t him dancing and smelt the burning of the wax museum.

The next thing he knew he was heaving over a bin that was next to him, and he heard a door open and it felt like tiny needles were being shoved into his ear.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re playing to try and get me to trust you again, but I don’t like it, I told you earlier and I’ll tell you again, if you’re actually sick go home.”

Tim felt like he could cry, he deserved the treatment from Jon, he really did, after everything that he did to Jon, to someone he used to consider a friend.

He didn’t like feeling like this and he doubted Jon did either.

He heard the sound of retreating footprints again, and he let himself cry.

Ugly sobs ripped through him, he remembers the times Jon took care of him in his own little ways when they were friends.

How Jon would always memorize his orders from restaurants, so whenever Tim was having a bad day, his order would show up at his desk, and how Jon always seemed to know when he had a headache and would make sure to give him a lighter workload that day.

He remembered the days in research, before the worms, before the archives even, when Tim had just a little too much to drink on a bad day where all he could think of was Danny, how Jon sat with him while he puked his guts out and cried for hours on a hard bathroom floor in his cheap apartment.

He looked up at the ceiling, hoping the lights might just hurt him enough to temporarily take him out of his misery.

It wasn’t enough, but he also couldn’t remain the half upright he was anymore, so there he was, curled into the fetal position on the dirty floor of the archives.

He closed his eyes, he wanted to sleep, he didn’t know the last time he slept more than three hours.

Was this what Jon felt like?

He lost consciousness shortly after that, his mind still running but his body giving out.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Danny screamed in his dreams.

Screaming about how Tim failed, about how it was his fault.

Sasha was there. 

He didn’t know which one it was if it was the real one or the fake one but she was yelling about he failed her too and he knew.

He failed Danny and Sasha and Jon and Martin.

He failed.

He was in the museum.

He was in the museum and then he was in the tunnels and then he was in Elias’ office getting told he was being moved to be an archival assistant.

He was with Sasha in her lap.

He was with Jon, they were at karaoke.

“Tim.”

Someone was talking but it wasn’t in his head.

“Tim, what on earth happened.”

Someone touched him and he was back on the floor of the archives.

“You’re burning up.”

He opened his eyes, and was not greeted by light.

Thank god.

He couldn’t move his head, but he could see Jon out of the corner of his eyes.

“J-Jon”

He was being moved, he was pretty sure, or the room was moving itself.

Jon’s hands were under his arms, Jon was never strong, how was he doing this?

“Shhh you’re alright, don’t talk.”

Fuck. 

Was he talking out loud?

Jon gave him a sympathetic smile, small and guilty.

He was upright.

It took his eyes a second to focus but when he did, his stomach lurched and he was back to being sick over a bin, but it had apparently been cleaned out which he was thankful for.

Jon was rubbing his back, calm and circular motions so contrary to what he deserved from Jon.

He didn’t deserve it after how he treated him.

He had nothing else in him to expel, and Jon and the bucket were both gone.

He closed his eyes, didn’t know how long for, but when he opened them back up it was to the feeling of a warm cloth running gently under his nose and over his mouth, gently wiping the blood off of him.

It was a relief, the metallic smell finally slightly is gone.

He never did like blood.

“Tim, I gotta get you standing.”

Jon’s voice was soft and worried, tinted with only a little fear.

Tim didn’t like that idea, but realistically he knew it was the best thing to do.

Jon was stronger than he remembered.

Probably some spooky shit, he distantly thought

The next thing he knew he was on the cot in document storage.

His head was spinning but laying down helped.

Jon was moving around, he heard the door click shut and then blinked and suddenly Jon was over him with a glass of water and some pills, gently sitting him up.

Tim took the pills, and Jon pressed the water to his lips, holding him up and when he was done, carefully laying him down.

A cold cloth pressed to his forehead, Jon smoothed it there before moving his own scarred hand to Tim’s scarred cheek, holding him as if he wasn’t as bad as he was.

“Take a rest, Tim.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim woke up to a head only mildly pounding, and to someone holding his hand.

He looked up to see Jon, sleeping in a chair next to him, and something in Tim’s heart cringed at it.

He knew Jon didn’t deserve the treatment Tim gave him, and he knew Jon was… well, scared of him, but here he was.

He gently squeezed Jon’s hand, which was apparently enough to rouse him from his slumber, and he looked around, finally meeting Tim’s eyes and smiling.

“How’re you doing? You were pretty sick for a bit.”

He didn’t move his hand at all, only shifting into a more professional position.

“I feel… not good but… better. Jon- I-“

He was cut off by Jon.

“I’m sorry Tim- I was an ass and I didn’t listen to you I’m so sorry I didn’t help earlier.”

Jon looked like he was about to cry and Tim was already, fevers always did make him more emotional.

He pulled his hand back and Jon looked almost hurt, before Tim sat up and pulled him into a hug.

It was different, definitely from the past year, and different from the common occurrence of him comforting Jon.

Jon ran his spidery hands through Tim’s hair, still soaked with sweat.

“I’m so sorry, Jon, I know you didn’t want any of this.”

Tim was crying and so was Jon.

There was still a long way to go, but there they were, fallen asleep on the cot in document storage, in a position that would surely hurt both their backs in the morning.

(Martin was sure to take many pictures when he stopped by the archives that night before he adjusted the blanket over both their shoulders.)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my tumblr at haunted-by-catholic-guilt


End file.
